


And We're Starting At The End

by midtown



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Genderqueer Character, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 22:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1958238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midtown/pseuds/midtown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Patrick Stump was fifteen years old, they decided they wanted to retire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And We're Starting At The End

**Author's Note:**

> okay here's the dl, the ending of this is shit, i wrote the first 7k words within a week several months ago (for bbb) and then forgot and tbh i still want to put it up just know that i didn't want to leave it completely unfinished also completely unedited wow i actually applaud whoever decides to read after this note

When Patrick Stump was fifteen years old, they decided they wanted to retire. The precise moment they decided this (if they had to pinpoint one, they thought about it quite often) was when they’d visited their grandparents in their retirement community and they were riding with their grandma on a golf cart to go to the pool. She went to the pool twice a day, but not on any real schedule, if she decided she didn’t want to swim one day, she could, and no one would be up her ass about it the next day, if she stopped forever no one would give a fuck, Patrick wanted that.

But of course, Patrick couldn’t have that, so they carried on whichever way they were pushed until they woke up ten years later in the closest thing to retirement that a twenty five year old could get; a perfectly boring, dull, ho-hum, repetitive, uneventful, and lifeless life of librarianship.

Or at least that’s what Patrick pretended it was. In reality Patrick was groveling in submission to every outside force in the world, but that wasn’t something they were willing to admit. Or, they wouldn’t be for a few months.

One particular Tuesday morning Patrick woke up to three more than usual shouts of ‘I wanna dip my balls in it!’ which meant Alex, Nate and Ryland were over, Gabe had probably brought the trio over once the clubs had closed since there was no way in hell any of them had woken up this early just to come hang.

“Aren’t you the intimidating one?” Patrick asked Victoria as they wandered out of their room sleepily, pouring some cereal out for themselves and perching on the counter.

“No, I’m the one with the soundproof room.” Victoria smiled grabbing some cereal for herself, “You’re working today though, right? No way they’ll still be here when you’re back, not without Gabe to entertain them.”

“Passed out?” Patrick inferred, thinking about all the stuff they’d have to do today that they didn’t want to.

“Big time,” Victoria nodded, “So I’m babysitting.”

“No charge? Your morals outweigh mine, Victoria.” Patrick mused.

“Parents raised me right.” She laughed, ruffling Patrick’s hair before they hopped back down, retreating to their room to get dressed.

The dummies in the living room kept Patrick from getting off for a good twenty minutes, resulting in them being late to work, so they went straight for the mystery section to keep away from the wrath of their supervisor.

Christopher/The Actual Satan found them within ten minutes and ordered them to clean bathrooms. Patrick would snap his neck if they hadn’t came less than ten minutes ago. “Mr. Stump, you aren’t acting like the man I hired, do you know how many times you’ve been late this month alone?" After Patrick snapped his neck, they’d sit on his chest and slice each vein off one by one and feed them to Victoria’s dog.

Patrick nabbed a letter opener from their desk on personal protocol and tucked it into the waistband of their leggings before grabbing cleaning supplies and getting to work on the bathrooms, which went fairly well until they came across the second stall in the men’s room.

"Fuckin’ Chicago," Patrick muttered under their breath, looking down at the person doing coke or K off of the toilet paper dispenser, reaching out a hand to get their attention with caution, their other hand floating by the letter opener.

"Hey, dude, you can’t do that in here, I’m sorry." When Patrick was taught this little speech at orientation, they honestly thought they’d never have to use it, this was their sixteenth time; they’d have to text Vicky later to make a tally.

"Oh my god you look so soft, I’ve missed you so much." The person replied, shakily grabbing the railing and making their way toward Patrick, they looked a lot more like a zombie than Patrick was comfortable with, "It’s me, Pete, don’t you remember me?"

"Um," Usually the people just fled or died or tried to pull a gun on them something, Patrick had never encountered this situation before "yeah, of-"

"Where’d your accent go?" The person, Pete, looked a little hurt, looking up at Patrick with wide betrayed eyes.

"My accent?" Patrick asked in return.

"You’re not fox guy." Pete frowned, "Where’d fox guy go? He was here last time; fox guy saved my life, Patrick."

Patrick was about to call 911 on name configuration powers alone, but then they realized they were wearing their name tag.

"I’m sure he’ll come around." Patrick promised, "Why don’t you come with me, okay?"

Patrick had a lot of regrets in life (dropping out of school, moving in with Gabe, buying that button up without trying it on last week, etc.), and they were fairly sure that this would be one of them, but as per usual, it didn’t stop them.

"Okay, Patrick." Pete smiled.

Patrick gathered up the remaining coke or ket, they really didn’t have time for examination, and the card that Pete used to cut it and tossed it in the toilet, since this was a public building after all, and then grabbed Pete by the arm and ass and walked them out, grateful that it was a slow day. “Try to look not-high, okay?” They advised, sitting Pete down in the fluffy chair closest to Patrick’s desk, “Are there any books you want to read?”

"A Streetcar Named Desire." Pete answered, "Thank you very much Patrick, you’re a good guy."

"Not a guy." Patrick murmured under their breath as they put the letter opener away and grabbed their cardigan to put back on.

"Cool chick, then." Pete corrected, nuzzling the chair contently.

Patrick looked over, surprised that Pete had heard them, “Nah, you still have another guess though.” They smiled a little, handing Pete a cup of water.

"Neither?" Pete asked, taking a long grateful sip of water before handing it back to Patrick since their hand was shaking too much to be holding anything.

"Or both, yeah, somewhere in that area," Patrick nodded, "don’t worry about it though; I usually don’t correct people on pronouns or whatever else."

They shrugged before walking off and retrieving a paperback for Pete, handing it over to them.

"That sounds pretty punk rock, like, more punk than fox guy." Pete smiled, “What pronouns do you like anyway?”

“They, usually, but you don’t have to.” Patrick muttered, sitting down at their desk.

"Why wouldn’t I?” Pete shook their head, “I’m a guy and a he, and I like you.”

"He, noted, I like you too, Pete.” Patrick replied shortly, getting back to work.

Pete sat and read quietly while Patrick marked delinquent’s files for the next three hours, ditching the bathroom responsibilities since Christopher took afternoons off. Pete was behaving a lot better than Patrick expected, only making surprised sounds every once in a while, falling asleep once about halfway through, so when Patrick’s shift ended, they were inclined to offer, “Do you need a ride home?”

"Wha- Oh, hey, it’s you." Pete rubbed at his eyes, "Sorry about the fox guy thing, I was, uh, watchin’ Daria before I left- the one with all the holidays, ya’know? Man, I love that episode, Patrick."

Patrick nodded tentatively, “So, ride?”

"Yes, please." Pete grinned giddily, standing up and following Patrick out the door, asking exasperating questions all the way home.

"How come the other library people didn’t wave bye to you, Patrick?"

"How are you today, Patrick?"

"Where do you live, Patrick?"

“How come you don’t correct people on your gender, Patrick?

"Have you ever done drugs, Patrick?"

"How old are you, Patrick?"

"Is that your natural hair color, Patrick?"

"Does it bother you that I add your name to the end of every question I ask, Patrick?"

Patrick let the questions pile up before they answered, “We don’t like each other very much, dreary, Printer’s Row, it’s a lot of explaining and after the explaining happens people usually refuse to acknowledge anything I’ve said so it seems like a waste, just weed, twenty-five, no, a little.” They were less invasive than the ones Patrick usually got, so they didn’t mind answering very much.

"Oh." Pete paused. "Okay."

Patrick took Pete’s directions all the way up to a very castle-looking house in Hyde Park, trust fund kid, Patrick figured, always ended up in weird positions, like James St. James, but not as cool.

“We’re here.” Patrick announced unenthusiastically, even so, Pete perked up at the sight of his house outside the car door.

“Cool!” Pete smiled, “Can I have your number, Patrick? You seem like someone who my therapist would say is good for me.”

Patrick shrugged and scrawled their number down on Pete’s hand because he’d probably forget about tonight all together and if he didn’t, Patrick could use a friend, even if he was a weird friend.

Pete copied the number into his phone and sent a text to Patrick before finally getting out of the car, shutting the door a little too hard and waving Patrick bye all the way until the car was out of sight.

It was Patrick who called Pete the next day, later when recounting this story to their grandchildren they would, well first of all they would warp the first part entirely, but they would also say this phone call was on impulse, when in reality Patrick spent the entirety of the morning at work pacing and wondering and dialing half the number before clicking the phone off.

Patrick always went to the same coffee-slash-tea shop at their break time, it was a nice place, the music that played was never horrible, fresh pastries were put out right before they got there, there were nice unisex bathrooms that you didn’t need to ask for a key for, so they stuck to it, only occasionally going to the gas station next door when they wanted pizza or something.

But the coffee shop was small, far too small to pace and worry in without being offered copious amounts of Ashwagandha, so Patrick hid in the bathroom until they heard the name ‘Pete’ in some passing conversation and realized this was getting ridiculous and they really needed to suck it the fuck up and call. They’d want to know if Pete had died, right?

Patrick locked the door and dialed the number, nervously pumping soap until it was overflowing in their hand, adding onto it with every ring.

“I’m chipper! What about you?” Pete answered on the very last ring, throwing Patrick for a curve when they were sure they were a goner.

“Um,”

“You were supposed to say hi and ask me how I was.”

“You didn’t really give me a chance.”

“Oh.”

“Hi.”

Pete smiled coyly, definitely good for him, “Hi Patrick.”

“How are you today? Not dead, that’s nice, good job.”

“Thanks, I’m just chipper, and you?”

“Cool, I’m feeling pretty dreary myself.”

“You were dreary last night.” Pete observed. “Pick a new adjective.”

“Forlorn.”

“Fuck, that bad?” Pete chuckled.

“A stray cat bit me this morning, I’m probably rabid.” Patrick blinked, washing the soap away and leaning against the wall.

“If it makes you feel any better I’m on lockdown, wish my parents were rich enough for this to be a public downward spiral, Patrick, I really do. ‘Cause then I could be in a fancy hotel rehab place instead of my bedroom.”

“It makes me feel a little better.” Patrick decided, “Not too bad though? I’m pretty sure I heard porn when you first answered.”

“I could be watching high-definition porn sprawled out on a couch made for fucking if I wasn’t stuck up here.” Pete sighed dramatically. “It’s a hard life, I have needs, Patrick.”

“Don’t we all,” Patrick went off on a little hate ramble about Christopher until Pete interrupted them.

“You should come and hang out with me; my parents never said I couldn’t have people over.”

“I don’t know, Pete, I think something like that would be implied-”

“We don’t do implied in this household; they know damn well they didn’t say it so you’ll be cleared.”

“Well, I, maybe tomorrow night? Gabe and I were going to stay in tonight and spend some time and stuff together.”

“I’ll miss you sorely, but I guess if you have to honor your commitments.” Pete sighed, “It’s cool, and I’m kind of tired today anyway.”

“Awesome, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Patrick promised down the phone before snapping it closed and returning to work.

That night, Patrick was more than off and it was even obvious to Victoria’s dogs, who crowded around them in the little pillow fort they built with Gabe.

“Dude.” Gabe frowned, brushing Patrick’s hair back, “You’ve been pouting for like, two hours, even when you laugh your lip still hangs out like a soft dick, what’s wrong?”

“Boys.” Patrick answered flatly before falling face down into the popcorn, “Stupid short druggie boys with nice smiles and warm eyes.”

“Are you talking about me?” Gabe asked skeptically, pulling their limp body out of the popcorn and laying them on their back, hovering over them nose-to-nose.

“Short.” Patrick repeated.

“Right when I was getting my hopes up.” Gabe sniggered, pressing a kiss to Patrick’s lips, “What’s his name?”

“Pete.” Patrick muttered, pushing Gabe onto his side so they could melt into his nice warm chest, “He’s adorable, I hate him, and he’s making me feel guilty about hanging out with you instead of him.”

“Why?”

“He might die.”

“I might die.”

“That would be, but you’re not, stop being so philosophical.” Patrick whined. “He was like, half dead when I found him, it’s not far-fetched.”

“Oh, so you think he’s going to kill himself if you don’t hang out with him, that’s kind of emotionally manipulative, it’s weird though, since your mind is forcing him into that role instead of him putting himself there.”

“What?

“Nothing,” Gabe shook his head, scratching at his stubble, “You really did grow up in the suburbs, didn’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, ya’know, me and Vicky-T both grew up in New York, right? Like, I don’t know about her but before the Hebrew school days, I had at least two of my teachers out for a week or so because they OD’d, I’m not saying it’s normal, but it’s not a death sentence, usually.”

“What?” Patrick asked again.

“He’ll be alive tomorrow, make out with me until then.”

Patrick pulled Gabe into a kiss at that, threading their fingers through his hair, “How do you know?”

Gabe rolled his eyes, “I just told you.”

“How do you know with Pete?” Patrick pushed.

“Stars.” Gabe answered firmly, hands moving down to Patrick’s soft hips.

“If he turns up dead I am burning your diploma.” Patrick warned, dropping their hand to Gabe’s crotch.

“Yeah, okay, whatever, I guess I’ll never be Gabriel the Great.” Gabe muttered despite his smile, sucking on Patrick’s lower lip.

Patrick was too nervous to really do anything the next day, of course they got up, got off, took a shower, talked to Victoria, a lot because unlike Gabe, she knew what safe subjects were, and went to work, but the entire time their mind was filled with thoughts of Pete, especially dead Pete, and they couldn’t seem to veer them away, so naturally they inconspicuously texted under their desk in case Gabe was wrong.

‘pete?’

‘pete!’

Right, so he was still alive, alive and able to sense Patrick embarrassing themselves. So being as technologically inclined as Patrick was, they chucked their phone into an unoccupied desk and went to clean up the children’s section until it was time to leave.

Patrick rang the doorbell once before stepping back, maybe they should leave, and they hadn’t actually been invited, had they? Pete just said they should come over; maybe he was just being nice, he was totally just being nice, Patrick should go and go now before someone could- “Young man? Who are you talking to?”

“Was I talking? Oh,” Patrick blushed deeply, “I’m uh,”

“You’re Pete’s person.” In Patrick’s time of thinking, it seemed like the person who answered the door had looked down and examined them enough to deem them ‘Pete’s person’, Patrick wondered if Pete got a lot of people, it wouldn’t surprise them. They also wondered what Pete said that defined Patrick, probably their dumb hat or nose or something.

“That! Yes! Thank you!” Patrick managed to answer before it got awkward, their enthusiasm managing to do just that.

“Right, well, third floor, second room straight forward.”

“Thank you.” Patrick squeaked before ducking in and taking the directions of the door person, probably Pete’s dad or something considering Patrick’s luck.

The door was nice, it was a faded green and you could see the wood coming through, the doorknob had a lot of jewels on it, for some reason this didn’t really surprise Patrick then they thought of Pete and it together. There was a little peeping hole just above Patrick’s head and no space at all under the door. Patrick wondered how many cracks were in the door, they should find out, Pete would probably appreciate it.

Patrick got up to sixty-five before someone told them that they should probably go in. What a brilliant idea, how did they never think of that, how amazing, Patrick was standing in a hallway with the next Da Vinci, amazing, truly amazing.

“Patrick?” Came Pete’s voice from the other side of the door, then the door opened and a dog ran Patrick over, quickly followed by Pete to pick them back up. “You came.”

“I came.”

“I love you, come in.”

Patrick blushed and did just that, brushing themselves off and walking into Pete’s room, looking around “Cool room.”

“Thanks.”

“Were you really high a couple nights ago?”

“Really like very or really like actually?”

“Actually.”

“Considering I don’t remember much of it, I’d say yeah.”

“Oh,” Patrick paused, “it didn’t seem like it.”

“You learn how to function when you’re on something like, all hours of the day, as I am now, you live in Chicago, dude, shouldn’t you know this?”

“I didn’t leave the suburbs for seventeen years.”

“That explains a lot.” Pete laughed. “Sit down, do you want pizza? I can get pizza delivered here too; it’s really cool, really like very.” He said as he set some pillows aside and kicked some stuff under the bed.

“Pizza would be awesome, actually.” Pete was doing things to Patrick, they were sure of it; usually they were too polite to accept water.

“You look really nice in that sweater.” Pete told them as they sat down, “You looked really nice in the one you were wearing last time too.”

“Thank you.” Patrick messed with their sleeves a little at that, watching Pete call and order in cheese pizza.

“I should have asked what you wanted.” Pete told them apologetically, “Do you want to be friends? Like, with me?”

“You’re really straightforward, yes.”

“Yes?” Pete broke out into a grin.

“Yes.” Patrick repeated surely, and then Pete hugged them tight.

“I have been waiting forty eight whole hours to hear that, Patrick.” Pete admitted, “Worst of my life, swear to god, didn’t even think you were going to show up.”

Patrick hugged back even tighter and laughed, because there wasn’t really anything else they could think to do, and it stayed that way for a few months, every other weekend was a slumber party (usually at Pete’s), they saw Watchmen, Star Trek, Orphan (they kept the lights on that night when they went to bed), Coraline, Harry Potter, and Up. They both consequentially decided that all movies were good the week after you’ve seen them, but Vicky was always wonderful and cooler than both of them.

Pete also made a habit of showing up at the library with a lot of food, but miserably never enough to share with anyone besides Patrick.

“Yo, lunchbox,” Pete greeted Patrick with a loaf of bread to the head behind their desk, “break time?” He asked, hooking his chin over Patrick’s shoulder flashing a brilliant grin.

“Do I have a choice?” Patrick smiled back despite themselves, swiveling around in their chair. “No way we’re going to stay here, park?”

“It’s the middle of winter, your jeans will get wet and your legs will turn blue, Patrick.” Pete shook his head, “Far too dangerous.”

“Must you always baby me?” Patrick rolled their eyes, “My jeans are black, dumbass, did you bring the van?”

“Of course I brought the van but there’s no heating in the van, you’ll freeze.”

“We’re eating in the van.” Patrick decided, grabbing Pete by the wrist and gathering the food stuff he brought.

“Okay.” Pete sighed dramatically in defeat, letting himself be dragged along until they came to an abrupt halt.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Some fucking supervisor, Ken or Cam or something asked.

“I’m going on my break.” Patrick answered flatly, making a move to get through the doorway once again but asshole blocked all leeway.

“Taking a patron with you?”

“He’s my friend.”

“You’re not supposed to have food in here.”

“Great! We were just leaving.”

“I expect you to be back in ten minutes.”

Patrick sighed, because that was better than what they usually got, “O-”

“Well your expectations are a little bit illegal considering this is a public workplace and you’re required to give your employees two fifteen minute rest breaks and one half hour meal break per seven hour shift, none of which Patrick has taken yet, so I suggest you let them do that now before someone finds out you don’t have a break area.” Pete blustered until Patrick snapped out of their trance and pulled him out the door and ran to the van.

“Patrick!” Pete breathed, “Ice! You could have slipped and died and spilled the food!”

“Where did you learn that?” Patrick asked instead, settling down on one of the many mismatched couch cushions and getting out a bag of pretzels.

“You’re so you, you could have died and you want to know where I learned some trivial bullshit. College, by the way.”

“You are such a fucking punk.”

“Oh you know it, babe.” Pete laughed, giving Patrick a little salute. “The ball room halls and intercollegiate soccer really toughened me up.”

“You played soccer?” Patrick giggled, “That’s adorable, seriously.”

“Oh yeah, I was going places and everything.” Pete made a face, puffing his cheeks out a little as he started tearing apart his bread.

“And ball rooms?” Patrick questioned a beat later, “You learn to dance in college too?”

“Nah, with Nanette Himmelfarb the rabbi's daughter at the Scarsdale Jewish Community Center.” Pete sniggered.

“Have I told you you’re my dream boy?” Patrick said with wide eyes, “Because, seriously, dream boy.”

“Oh, I’m flattered.” Pete replied and Patrick pretended they didn’t see the blush tinting Pete’s cheeks, since he usually did the same for them.

“You should come hang tonight.” Patrick told him, “I think Gabe’s going to be home, but so is Vicky, so the good and evil should balance out.”

“I finally get to meet Gabe? Seriously?” Pete lit up.

“God, don’t look so excited about it.” Patrick made a face, but Pete’s grin remained, so they ended up in sitting in a circle in Patrick’s apartment with Gabe, Victoria, a decreasing supply of vegan jello shots and a couple joints just a few hours later.

“Alright, alright,” Pete giggled, “never have I ever skipped out on a cab fare and got laid as a result.”

“Cause of death: being a slut.” Gabe shook his head, taking another shot.

“You’re just trying to get yourself drunk!” Patrick squeaked, and then laughed because their voice was doing things for no reason.

“Patty, I’ve been drunk, for like six rounds, if I was lying at this point I would be trying to kill myself.”

“Point,” Vicky chimed in, squinting at Pete and giggling to herself, “never, never have I ever been fucked at a gig.”

“That’s not fair!” Gabe and Patrick yelled, then drank, then looked at each other and snorted.

“Sooommmeething I don’t know about?” Pete slurred, carefully putting his joint down.

“A long long time ago in a galaxy far away,” Gabe started but Patrick stopped him with a hand over his mouth at the risk of things getting graphic. “It is a period of civil war and a hell of a lot of gay shit.”

“Striking from a hidden base,” Victoria added, pinching Patrick’s cheek, “Like dicks; oh man that was a dark time.”

“We don’t talk about it.” Patrick replied definitely, taking another jello shot and picking up Pete’s joint, letting the room go all nice and quiet and colorful for the rest of the night.

The next morning, Pete, the cheery all-smiles fuck (he probably convinced Gabe into giving him some coke or something because no one was that much of a morning person) decided to make breakfast and earned Gabe and Vicky’s eternal love.

“Don’t get cocky now.” Patrick warned over a mug of coffee, they’d all spread out to their own little corners by now with Pete and Patrick sat in the hall. “They’re easy, I’d love to see you try to impress like, my parents.”

“I think I could.” Pete answered matter of factly, licking the whipped cream off of his hot chocolate.

“I never have.” Patrick shook their head in absolute doubt, “So, if you ever get the chance, good luck.”

Another month went by and Pete got his chance.

“Heya, Pattycakes!” Pete chirped, jumping on their bed, “Victoria let me in, have I told you I love her?”

“I have a checkup tonight.” Patrick responded; completely pale staring into their own eyes in the vanity, dress shirts and skirts that should have been ironed at least once in their lifetime strewn across the room, about three hundred different necklaces and ties draped around their neck.

“Why are you dressing up? Is it going to double as a funeral? Patrick if you’re terminal-” Pete started but Patrick interrupted him with a frustrated growl.

“Not that kind of checkup, once every four years my parents get together and make dinner reservations and we sit and talk about my life for a minimum of two hours and I was due last year but they started fighting before I even got there so we rescheduled.” Patrick explained, as they styled and destroyed their hair a few hundred times.

“That sounds kind of horrible.” Pete decided then walked up behind Patrick and stilled their hands “Can I come?”

“Can you be well-behaved?” Patrick asked in return, “And well-dressed? And seem like you don’t have a drug problem? And put that most of a polisci degree to use? Oh, and pretend to be my boyfriend?”

“Can-do,” Pete replied happily. “When is it? Can I hold your hand? What are your parents’ names?”

“We need to be there by eight sharp, and sure, but you try to cop a feel and you’re dead, seriously.” Patrick warned. “And it’s David and Patricia.”

“Want a limo?” Pete offered, “If you want to impress them and stuff.”

“Limo is trying too hard.” Patrick shook their head, “They’d just grill me for spending money on materialistic superfluous things, that’s their job, a driver in a black regularly sized car would work.”

“Not a problem.” Pete assured, “Where are we eating?”

“Everest,” Patrick answered, “Dress code aside, please try not to let any tattoos show and make your hair nice, please.”

“Calm down Patrick.” Pete chuckled, letting their hands go and sitting down on the stool next to them and crossing his legs. “I’m forced into attendance at like, galas and shit every other weekend; I’m a professional at not being myself.” He told them reassuringly.

“Right, I forget that.” Patrick chewed on their lip. “What am I going to wear? My parents aren’t into androgyny and I’m not into them.”

“Am I going to see you in a tux then? You should totally wear a tux; you’d make a tux look super-hot.”

“My only tux hugs me in all the wrong places.” Patrick shook their head, “I’m leaning more towards lady attire tonight.”

“Your parents don’t have a problem with that?” Pete asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“S’long as I’m somewhere in the binary they could care less.” Patrick admitted.

“That’s pretty lame, so do the pronouns or name change when you’re around them?” Pete questioned, crossing his legs a little.

“I’m always Patrick, pronouns and son or daughter change depending how I’m dressed, because that obviously determines your gender.” Patrick groaned. “Don’t argue, see what they say first and roll with it.” They paused, “Please, just roll with it and we can rant about it later, I’ve been holding a grudge about it for the last three meetings.”

“They’re really fucking dumb, but yeah, I’ll do that.” Pete paused, “You should wear the white dress that does the thing at the bottom, the one you wore to the Thanksgiving thing, I love that one.” He said with a little smile.

“Actually haven’t thought of that one.” Patrick responded matter of factly as they sat up a little and looked over to the closet. “I was looking more towards the pencil skirt with the bow thing and the white long sleeve top.”

Pete made a face, “No, no, that’s too penguin-suit, you’re not a lawyer, you’re like, beautiful and stuff.”

“Lawyers can be beautiful and stuff.”

“False, you grow a wrinkle with every answer you get right on the bar, the soul sucking process takes all hair pigment and makes your ears fall off, and how could one be beautiful without ears?”

“Professional wrestlers,” Patrick deadpanned, and then laughed, walking the two steps to their closet and grabbing the dress from the back holding it up in comparison to their body.

“You’ll look so good, Patrick.” Pete replied with a dumb grin. “Seriously, and you can wear the little half sweater thing too, and the white glasses- you know the ones.” He rambled, and Patrick could almost see their nerves disappearing.

So Patrick wore white head to toe and Pete dragged them over to his house so he could dress in offsets of black that put all the attention on Patrick, making them blush furiously when they stood next to each other in the mirror.

“We look good, how long have we been together?” Pete asked as he adjusted Patrick’s necklace so all the jewels shined.

“Seven months, we met in the dentists’ office because your kid has the same name as me so we both stood up and looked at each other and then laughed and got to talking since it ended up being your kid.” Patrick recited.

“Why do I have a kid?” Pete questioned, lying back on the bed, ignoring that it was messing up his hair.

“It shows you can care about things, empathy and shit, I’m trying to tune in to all your best qualities.” Patrick shrugged, “Their mom died, by the way, you were married for three years, met in college, fell in love, all that stuff.”

“God, Patrick, you’re putting me through an emotional roller coaster!” Pete laughed, “My life is a wreck, holy shit.”

“Yeah, my parents like to imagine me as a Christ-like figure, probably because they want me to die young.” Patrick explained, drawing on Pete’s mirror with a tube of lipstick.

“I am liking your parents less and less by the second.”

“Yeah, in all honesty it’s pretty fucked up, they both live deep in the suburbs with low five figure salaries, but they expect all their kids to be like ten times that, which both my brother and sister have somehow managed to do.” Patrick rolled their eyes, “So I’m the bum.”

“I’ll take you out for ice cream afterward.”

“Really?” Patrick grinned, leaning over and planting a soft kiss on Pete’s cheek, “Thank you.”

As per policy, Patrick’s parents were standing outside at a respectable distance away from each other, each of their faces attempting to light up when they saw Patrick.

“It’s so nice to see you, Patrick.” Patricia hugged them lightly, “Who’s your friend?” She asked, her tone a lot more flat and critical once she’d pulled away.

“This is Pete Wentz; we’ve been seeing each other for seven months.” Patrick answered perfectly, “I figured since we’re talking about my life…well he’s just become such a big part of it.” They smiled at Pete and not-so-clumsily kicked him in the shin when they felt the tremor before a laugh run up his spine.

“Right, well.” Patrick’s dad made something of a hand motion before guiding them inside and back to the table, Patrick ordered light in case they threw up like the time they were eight, and sixteen, and twenty.

“We might as well start with the elephant in the room.” Patricia spoke after a beat, “You two are?” She made a motion between Pete and Patrick.

“He’s my boyfriend.” Patrick replied, sitting up straight. “We met at the dentist, completely monogamous, committed, yeah.”

“Well that’s, er, new.” Patricia smiled, “Wonderful, but you’ve caught be a bit off guard, considering your track record.”

“Mom!” Patrick shrieked, wishing they would have worn heels so they could impale Pete without trying to discreetly grab the steak knife.

“Right, so, what are you doing?”

This was Patrick’s queue to talk, not to many details, just a nice summary, notes would be taken and interrogation would come later.

“I’ve started working at the library, five days a week, eleven to seven.” Patrick paused, “Living arrangements remain the same, Printer’s Row with Gabriel and Victoria,” They didn’t miss the way both their parents grimaced at that. “I do spend a lot of time at Pete’s house in Hyde Park, though.” The fucking bastards glowed, “Claude has been out of the picture for three years, there was no one in between him and Pete, I quit smoking, took a trip with some friends to New York, ate a lot of cereal.” He shrugged, “Not as much as last time, sophomore slump I guess.”

“You didn’t even get to your sophomore year, you-”

“David!” Patricia sipped, “It’s obvious she’s living much better than last time we checked in, we should be happy for her.”

“She’s a librarian, she needs a real job, you were going to be a doctor, Patrick!”

No they weren’t, Patrick never wanted to be a doctor, they didn’t like blood, or skin, or seeing bones in places they weren’t supposed to be.

“Well.” Pete chimed in unexpectedly, “It was recommended to her to, uh, hone her organizational skills, she’s already in high demand to be a curator at the Museum of Science and Industry.” He explained with a confident smile, squeezing Patrick’s hand while they nodded along, “I was going to keep it a secret until I actually got the job, but, yeah.”

“Oh, well that’s much different.” Patricia smiled, “Why don’t you tell us about that more?”

So with help from Pete, Patrick went on about how they’d met the big boss man and noticed they had a great eye for science and industry and he just had to have them on their team, so he flew Patrick out to Spain and Patrick was even better than the Spain people which was crazy since they’d never taken a class in science or industry, and Patrick would be making their debut in a few months but family weren’t allowed because it might influence the perception of their work. Also, penultimate.

“I have never lied to my parents so much.” Patrick laughed as they tumbled into the back of the car with Pete, more than a little tipsy from the wine.

“Really? Oh man, I have done so much worse, I’m a horrible influence.” Pete giggled back, slumping against Patrick’s shoulder and telling the driver to go to the nearest ice cream place that wasn’t Dairy Queen.

“You aren’t though, like, that’s the best one of those has gone, ever, like I got yelled at when I was four and my goal was to work at Wal-Mart.” Patrick admitted, “The bastards fucking love me for the first time in forever, that’s awesome.”

“They don’t love you for like, you, though, doesn’t that bother you?” Pete asked.

“Fuck no; they don’t even deserve to know me.”

“Damn right, Tricky.” Pete nodded, before helping them out of the car and skipping into the ice cream place, where he got cotton candy with chocolate bar mix-ins against his better judgment, leaving him to snack off Patrick’s vanilla.

“Do I deserve to know you?” Pete asked after a long silence between them, grazing the skin on Patrick’s thumb, leaning against their shoulder.

“Obviously,” Patrick smiled brightly, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Pete leaned in a little, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Patrick repeated with a small giggle, following along and leaning in too, completely clueless until they felt Pete’s hand on their cheek and their lips were together.

Patrick made a little ‘oh’ sound at that, melting right into the kiss, hands falling to their sides as they closed their eyes, frowning when the warm disappeared.

When Patrick opened their eyes, Pete was still there sitting eerily still, “Pete?” They squeaked.

“Was that okay?” Pete asked gently, very deliberately returning his hands to his lap and keeping his eyes focused in on his ice cream to an extent that Patrick feared he was trying to melt it.

“Extremely okay,” Patrick blushed, looking down and toying with their necklace, “do you want to come over? I think I’ve had enough of anyone’s parents today and there’s no adults allowed at my place.”

“I’d love to.” Pete nodded, and then added that the they should probably finish the ice cream first, which they did, until they fell asleep at the table and their driver had to come in and get them, which Pete made a point to tip him extra for.

“It’s Saturday and it’s late, so I think it should just be us.” Patrick mentioned as they fumbled with their keys until the door pushed in.

“Cool.” Pete loosened his tie and kicked off his shoes as they stepped in, “Can we play games?”

“I need out of this outfit first.” Patrick answered, walking Pete back into their room, “I have lots of pajamas, so you don’t have to sleep in your suit unless you want to; can you undo the necklace? My fingers are too stubby for this shit.”

“I’ll take pajamas.” Pete answered as he unhooked Patrick’s necklace and put it in its box. “Do you want me to step out while you change?”

“If you want,” Patrick shrugged, unzipping their dress with ease, “the worst you’ll see is nipples, you’re really at more risk if you go out on the off chance that someone else is home.” They laughed kicking off their shoes and stepping out of the dress, heading over to their closet and getting out a college tee and some striped pajama pants, throwing something similar at Pete.

“Hope that suits your taste.”

“Right up my alley.” Pete shed his clothes and put Patrick’s on, cuddling with his pants because they were kind of the fuzziest thing he’d ever felt.

“You have a lot of tattoos.” Patrick told him, sitting down on their bed and pulling their knees up to their chin, completely socially drained.

“Yeah,” Pete smiled, getting into the same position as Patrick and meeting them eye to eye.

“We kissed.”

“Yeah,” Pete repeated, raising an eyebrow at Patrick.

“It was good.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Can we do it again?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Pete laughed, reaching out to tip up Patrick’s chin and kiss them again.

Patrick was a lot more prepared this time, which made the kiss infinitely better and a lot more French, and like, awesome.

Patrick decided when to pull away this time, and they weren’t very willing so it only ended when they came to the logic that it would be dumb to die of oxygen deprivation now because then they couldn’t kiss Pete more in the future.

And boy did they.

“Oh my god, Patrick,” Pete giggled as Patrick kissed eagerly at his neck, “it was only a week.”

“A week where you couldn’t even text me, I was dying, Pete.” Patrick replied, pulling off Pete’s shirt and straddling his waist. “I’m gonna blow you, okay?” They asked, rubbing Pete through his jeans.

“Fuck, yeah, okay.” Pete nodded eagerly. “Is there anything you don’t want me to do?”

“No dirty talk.” Patrick answered, nudging Pete to lift his ass off the bed so they could get his jeans off. “Like, I don’t appreciate being called a slut or a sissy or whatever, but you can cheer me on all you want. Don’t fuck my mouth unless you want me to puke on you. That’s all.”

“Cool.” Pete replied dumbly, “Do I need to wear a condom?”

“Are you clean?”

“Yes.”

“Then no.”

“You just, fuck, trust me like that? Dude,”

“Should I not?” Patrick cocked an eyebrow, curling his fingers on the inside of Pete’s waistband and dragging it down.

“No, I mean, yes, I’m clean, I have a card to prove it and everything.”

“Cool.” Patrick mimicked with a laugh, wrapping a hand around the base of Pete’s cock, taking him in their mouth slowly, smirking a little when they felt his breathing change in a split second.

“Trick, holy shit,” Pete breathed, threading his fingers through Patrick’s hair.

Pete wasn’t that big and Patrick kind of wanted to impress him so they pulled out all the stops, deep throating, what Gabe called ‘that really really nice swirly thing’, paying like, a lot of attention to his balls, whatever, it was a good blowjob by most people’s standards.

Pete’s internal monologue was a bit more nonsensical, Patrick knew this because it was quickly becoming an external monologue, but Patrick really couldn’t blame him; after all he was getting a good-by-most-people’s-standards-blowjob.

The good-by-most-people’s-standards blowjob got them a fucking-awesome-by-Patrick’s-standards blowjob in return, and then they watched Rock ‘N’ Roll High School and had sandwiches so Patrick thought it was a good day, they told Pete this, they also told him that they didn’t want him to leave for so long again.

And Pete said he wouldn’t for so long as they were together.

“Honeybear,” Pete was under more chemical influence than usual when he showed up at Patrick’s door at three in the morning, that much was clear, “bear, head? Anyway, we should do something.”

“Not a lot to do at this hour, Pete.” Patrick informed him warily.

“Oh, sex?”

“No sex.” Patrick shook their head, “How many days have you been up?”

“I don’t know the number, babypants.” Pete told him, “I think Tuesday is the answer you seek.”

“What are you on?” Patrick asked, following Pete as he circled the living room a few times before sitting down at the computer.

“Benzedrine, just like Kerouac.” Pete smiled a little as he started to type frantically at the keyboard.

“We’re not in the beat generation.” Patrick told him flatly, pulling up a stool and watching Pete type and delete and type again, “Don’t you usually knock yourself out on rohypnol by now?”

“Can’t, bookface, too busy.” Pete gestured to the keyboard,

Patrick let out a heavy sigh, “Okay.” They said after a minute or so. “Don’t make noise, come sleep with me if it wears off anytime soon.” They kissed Pete’s cheek before pulling a blanket over their shoulders and heading back to bed, Pete was gone the next morning.

Patrick worried, they worried a lot, about everything and everyone, for a long time they blamed it on sympathy and media scare tactics but they’d come to learn that they were just kind of paranoid and nosey.

So naturally the first thing they did the next morning was call Pete, who didn’t answer, so they went to his house, where he wasn’t

 

**Author's Note:**

> if ur rereading this shit show (i wrote the first note like two years ago ive bittered w/ age) u might have noticed that the very end is gone, that's b/c i made it up at the time and it doesn't really fit with the story and i honestly thought it would be better if there was an abrupt ending rather than one that didn't make sense but uh idk what happens after this and im not about to go back into this universe to find one for u guys but hey if ur into 1d read my finished and actually really good fic The Harry Project :)


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